


flagging black

by underwater_owl



Series: two creams, one sugar [3]
Category: Mad Max Series (Movies)
Genre: Biting, Breathplay, D/s, Edge Play, F/M, Risk Aware Consensual Kink, Road Trip, S&M, dating long enough to be off your best behaviour, domesticity (sort of), medical grade silicone, motel sex, strap ons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-27
Updated: 2015-06-27
Packaged: 2018-04-06 08:57:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4215609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/underwater_owl/pseuds/underwater_owl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kinky one shot from the two creams, one sugar series.  Stands alone as a PWP in a modern AU if you're into the fetish list and not up for those.</p>
            </blockquote>





	flagging black

**Author's Note:**

> All right, full disclosure-- the pacing here is really fucked up. This isn't so much a standalone story as a series of mental images plus two sex scenes. I almost didn't post it, but it isn't getting any better in terms of having an emotional flow to it no matter what I do to it- so rather than chuck the porn into the bin I decided GOOD ENOUGH for the one-shot pile and am letting it out into the world.
> 
> Because seriously, I *am* proud of this porn, and I hope its' kinky fun makes up for the rest of it!

The trip is long, and warm, and the trip is glorious. It passes in sunsoaked flashes and sweaty, eager nights. Furiosa’s enduring memory of the experience will be drowsing in the passenger seat while Max drives. Max’s will be Furiosa, mouthing the words along with Cream on the radio as she steers them around a tight corner.

The first night, they sleep in the car. They screw in it, too, with the front seat pushed all the way back, and Furiosa straddling Max’s lap, on the side of the road in the dark, fogging the windows up like teenagers. It’s their first time together since his knee has been well enough to stand for anything adventuresome, since the heavy painkillers have been a distant enough memory that his libido is where it should be. As such, it’s also their first time since their test papers have come back in. He fucks her without a condom, with his arms wrapped tight around her back.

They sleep parked at the side of the road, until a patrol officer knocks on the window in the morning, laughs at them and tells them to move along.

\---

The way it works is they have a travel fund, contributed to in fair amounts, a substantial chunk of change each, plus a little more from Furiosa since she draws a better wage than him, and since the wear and tear is all going to be on his car. They have a card for that account. Everything, food, motels, gas, supplies, everything comes out of that fund.

They'll turn around and head for home when there are five hundred dollars left. Toast earns a little extra cash at the coffee shop while they’re gone, Furiosa’s garage stays ‘closed for renovations.’

So long as they don’t get real hotels or stay overnight anywhere too often, they could live like this for ages. 

\---

Their first motel, they mostly use for the shower, and it’s warm enough outside that it doesn’t matter that there isn’t a lot of hot water. They wash under the tepid spray, and can’t stop touching each other- after so long going without it’s like when they first started dating, only more so because they’re more wild about each other now that they’ve been through it all. She’s only just finished washing the mess from their long, sticky drive off her inner thighs when he has her about the waist, and is nudging her towards the bedroom, lips against the nape of her neck, hips pressing up against her.

Furiosa goes, and falls obligingly onto her stomach when he pushes her down, moans as he spreads her legs, and jumps at the feel of his breath, his tongue, as his broad hands splay her open. She bites down hard on the back of her hand to muffle the shriek that wants to burst out of her, as he takes her from zero to sixty with an ease born of long familiarity.

When he growls, she thinks for a wild second that he is going to bite. She isn’t sure if she’s afraid he will, or afraid that he won’t.

Instead, Max flips her onto her back, and settles back over her. The blankets on the bed have a plasticky, cheap hotel quality to them, and stick to her a little, come untucked and pull down with them, and are going to be _soaked_ besides, because they haven’t stopped to towel off from the shower. Furiosa doesn’t care about anything right now except the way his body slinks overtop of hers, and the way his hips fit up against her, the way he takes his cock with one hand and guides it, carefully and familiarly, inside of her.

He fucks her like this until he comes, until she’s a twitching, wrecked mess, then slips down between her legs once more and licks and licks, somehow all the more obscene now that she can feel his come inside her. Max crooks his fingers into her and tells her, softly;

“You’re such a mess for me,” with the lazy, ragged intimacy that just _kills_ her, every time, and, “you let me do such things to you.”

He fingers her hard, trapping her body down with the spare arm, mouth pressed over her, so obscenely she can’t hardly _think,_ while he sucks and licks and eventually, eventually and so very carefully, closes his teeth over her. Furiosa shrills out a terrified little sound, even though it isn’t painful yet, just inexorable, slow pressure, a thousand times more frightening than when he’s biting her throat, even, and even though she has gone stock still with deep, shivery instinct, Max’s fingers crook hard.

She comes hard, messily, and with a scream that could easily get them thrown out if it weren’t such a shitty motel. Her vision goes honest to goodness _black_ for a second, and when it clears she looks down and sees Max gently, unperturbedly, wipe her off his mouth with the back of one hand, drawing a soothing, settling caress up her thigh with the other.

“Shower,” he eventually says, somewhat ruefully, _again,_ and Furiosa holds up her arms to him to be helped to her feet. As much as she doesn’t want to move just yet, she really can’t blame him.

\---

Two weeks on the road, and they don’t want to kill each other yet. Furiosa isn’t surprised, really, though she is a little relieved- no one ever expects not to be able to travel with their partner, but it obviously does happen. Really, she’d been more concerned that her habits would grate on him, rather than his grating on hers, but neither thing is really true. They’re fine together.

They’re better than fine together. They find eerie things, things that fit just right- Max’s total aversion of casual conversation, even with waiters, is perfectly fine- she picks what they’re both having and so long as she doesn’t order anything with olives, he’s happy. He doesn’t care about her deep distaste for chain hotels and doesn’t grumble when they have to drive the extra hour, scour back roadways for anything that isn’t a major franchise. He doesn’t even mind that she never wants to google it, even though his phone does have data and would probably get them there faster, Max just drives patient circles with her until she sees something she likes.

Anyways, they sleep in the car more often than not, or in a sleeping bag on a blue foam pad out on the ground behind it.

\---

They brush their teeth with water from the metal bottles she packed, spit toothpaste onto asphalt, and horse around at a lookout point pullout. Furiosa entertains herself by trying to kiss him with foam on her mouth, and Max fends her off with yelps, and his gentle, long arms. A passing motorist slows to make sure they’re not in trouble, and Furiosa uses the distraction to sneak in under his guard and get a big, minty smear into his stubble.

\---

Max likes music when he’s driving, and the girls have pitched in together to get them a good-travels ipod, with her music collection, his, and more besides. They run it until the battery drains down, then charge it with an adapter in the cigarette lighter. They switch to playing Cream on repeat for something like five hundred kilometers, until her restraint has broken down and Furiosa sings along, in full voice, all self-consciousness eroded, _I feel free._

\---

“What are you thinking about?” she asks, often, particularly when she is behind the wheel.

Today, while he’s still thinking about last night, the answer is;

“Medical grade silicone.”

She doesn’t want to google sex shops, either, but those aren’t hard to find in a town of _any_ size. They’re in and out again within half an hour of the words having passed his lips.

\---

Three weeks on the road, they get into their first fight. Furiosa has a crick in her neck and a little bit of a headache. Max isn’t in a mood to stop to pee, which she has to, _again._ Why does she drink so much water during the day?

Neither of them can remember whether Riverworld was written by Larry Niven or Philip Jose Farmer. For many reasons, it _matters_ terribly. Max is driving, and Furiosa hates cell phones too much to just get onto the internet and look it up, and when he tries to talk her through it, something goes wrong with his data.

“It won’t work.” She says, frustrated, and Max answers;

“It’ll work.”

And she is going to answer that, except the screen finally lights up and tells her;

“I hate this thing. Okay. Your phone says Larry Niven wrote Ringworld, and Jose Farmer wrote Riverworld.”

“Right,” says Max, “that’s what we were talking about. Ringworld.”

And for a second, Furiosa is about to yell, really honest to goodness _yell_ at him because Max is a know it all little shit and apparently actually can't stand being proven wrong-

Only then they meet each other’s eyes, and it’s over in a heartbeat, both of them pausing in amazement and then grinning. He pulls over and buys her a disgusting ice-drink, the soda flavoured kind you get some gas stations, her lingering obsession with which is probably a product of her time growing up across the pond.

“What do you think about getting off the road for a bit? Get three nights in a hotel in a city with something to see?” He asks, as he stretches the kinks out of his back, tosses her the car keys.

“Sure.” She agrees, with a nod. “How far are we from ocean?”

Max considers reaching for his phone, but then remembers he loves her and goes and kisses her on the cheek, deciding;

“I’ll see if they sell maps inside.”

\---

Given the request, (she hasn't stopped turning it over in her head, _medical grade silicone,_ the back plastic bag in the boot) Furiosa can probably be forgiven for thinking that Max would like her to fuck him. The truth, it turns out, is a little more nuanced. The thought of penetration makes him laugh- and not the sexy kind, either, just the rueful, shake of his head, not my cup of tea laugh that makes Furiosa blink. Okay, not a hard ‘no,’ but clearly that isn’t the reaction she’d been expecting, given that he’d initiated the purchase.

“I have a fantasy,” Max says.

\---

They check into a cabin at the edge of the sea. There’s not even any running water, and the bed is a cot with a metal frame that squeaks. They’re using outhouses. The floor is grimy.

Max goes to his knees on it, anyways, and rests his hands on her hips. Furiosa slips her hand down, and strokes through his hair, and nods when he smiles up at her.

“You tell me if you need to move to the bed.”

Because he’s still post-surgery, even if he insists that there’s hardly any pain any more.

His hands curve, and she feels him cupping her by the waist, now, and she takes a second to enjoy being nude, in front of him, in the daylight, with sun coming through their gauzy curtain. She's perfectly naked- except for the belt, of course, the leather harness that holds her lovely new cock just so.

Max leans forward, eyes slipping lightly shut, and wraps his lips around the head of her dick. Pulls her in closer, and slides in a little more near himself, and Furiosa wonders if this is what men feel like, watching themselves disappear into a warm, plush, eager mouth. She licks her lips.

Max pulls off, licks his own lips, either unconsciously mimicking the gesture, or else just wetting them to make this easier, and then takes her in again and pushes forward, until she feels him struggle, find his limit. She doesn’t know, maybe, one hundred percent, due to the lack of nerve endings in the area, but Furiosa thinks Max probably gives a hell of a blowjob.

(His sexual orientation is actually a little more complex than her own. While Furiosa has been straight since day one, and always known it, Max has veered a little bit closer to a Kinsey one or two over the years. As he confides to Furiosa, now and again he found a person, a place or a moment that struck him just right, and in that context just liked to give a little head, sometimes.)

She knows this, and is shocked by how erotic the thought suddenly seems, having him like this, sucking her off now like he can get her to come, movements of his jaw tugging the harness of the strapon, pulling the leather between her legs a little bit- but yeah, the trip is intellectual more than anything else.

She reaches down again, and curls her hand harder in his hair, and tugs him forward, with a sharp thrust of her hips. Max grunts, lets out a breath through his nose, and then opens up beautifully for her.

It’s a soft enough model that Furiosa is sure she won’t accidentally hurt him if she’s being careful, but still, she’s _so_ cautious, when she does as he’d asked and starts to fuck him like that. The prosthetic hand curls over his nape, an uncompromising metal touch, while her fingers pull hard enough at his hair that his eyes probably water, though he has them passively closed just now. She pumps her hips, carefully, pushing in deep and then pulling nearly all the way out, pulling him backwards by his short hair so she can watch the full length of the toy slide out of his mouth, so she can hear the huff for breath as she slides back in.

She’s transfixed enough that it takes her to the second snap of his fingers, down by his side, to realize and pull back, let him go. He gasps for air, and puts his hand to his knee, reluctantly, shamefacedly, and rolls to sit on his hip, so he can straighten the bad leg out.

“Not done.” He gasps, adds; “Just have to move.”

“The bed?” She proposes, and Max winces, because it would be easier on him, but what he likes is the roughness, the sense of being controlled, and you get that on your knees in a way that you just don’t when you’re lying on your stomach between a partner’s legs, no matter how hard they thrust up.

Furiosa glances around for a solution, and smiles.

“If we're careful, I can put you on your back?”

Max looks up at her, catches a little desperate, flaring breath through his nose, and crawls towards the bed.

Furiosa follows after him, with a languid swing to her step.

The new position is just as good, if not better, in terms of being an angle that makes him really have to work, in terms of letting her grind against the base of the dildo whenever she bears down. He chokes on the downthrust, and manages to look up at her, every so often, with a wild look in his eyes, which are more pupil than iris now, black swallowing up blue.

When she’s sure, sure it’s time, when she glances back and sees his cock, red and hard, curved up against his stomach, she reaches down and strokes her hand gently over his face, smooths the sweat off his brow.

Then, as soon as he gives her the slightest indication of a nod, Furiosa casually uses two fingers to pinch his nose shut, to cut off his air.

The choking noises he makes, trying to get a breath around her cock, make her shudder so hard she sees it rattle him. She pulls back, gives him a sticky little gasp of air- and then pushes back in again, hard as she dares. Max’s eyes roll all the way back.

She fucks him like that until he comes from one sharp, clear breath, with a little kick of his leg and his nails biting pleadingly in to her thighs.

\---

There are no showers to be had. They wash each other carefully, gingerly, with the cold water from the sea.

Furiosa wears shorts short enough that you can see two of the crescent moon marks, the bottom most in a pair of neat sets of four. Perhaps it’s a little cruel. Max is still so spaced out the next morning she won’t let him so much as drive into town for groceries.

\---

He’s definitely developing a fetish for motels. And the two of them are developing an awareness of one another, an openness and generosity in bed that’s starting to burn, it’s so electric. They’re rougher, then softer, in turns. They find the things they want to be with each other. 

The days on the beach are good, are sandy and warm and just right. Soon, though, they're ready to drive again, and not yet in the direction of home.

The world outside the car windows slips by in a blur of soft green fields.


End file.
